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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29315538">Where Do We Go From Here?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer/pseuds/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer'>Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>We're The Same [And They Were Roommates] [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Feels, Bonding, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Gen, Good Parent Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Parent Martin Whitly, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Some Humor, and malcolm's harboring a fugitive, and they were roommates!, and worldwide known serial killer, oh my god they were roommates, this is gonna be f u n</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:07:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29315538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer/pseuds/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>His wary eyes didn't falter from the cup for a moment, watching the steam curling from the liquid inside - most certainly not getting cold - before he lifted his gaze back to Martin's proud face, studying the dimples under his beard, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "What's it laced with?"</em>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Bright &amp; Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright &amp; Sunshine the Bird, Martin Whitly &amp; Sunshine The Bird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>We're The Same [And They Were Roommates] [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147352</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Where Do We Go From Here?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm stayed still, heart pounding violently against his rib cage, as Martin smiled at him.</p><p>He almost didn't dare to believe what he was seeing. Mouth dry, heart racing, all he could do was gaze at his father. Martin's eyes met his, blue on blue, and the smile curling at his father's lips seemed to widen just the slightest bit. His grip on the cup shifted, setting it down carefully on the counter alongside the beanie, and Malcolm winced a little at the sudden movement, the Surgeon's stillness broken, as the heavy realization crashed down all too abruptly that this was real. This was really happening. His father was standing in his kitchen, unshackled, unleashed. And it was his fault. His fault. The Surgeon was free, and it was Malcolm's fault completely.</p><p>He wished he could say he wasn't surprised to see him here, of all places, too. He should have expected this. But he didn't think his father would have done something so… so <em>risky</em>. After all, even with what had happened between them, did he really expect Malcolm to just accept this?</p><p>"Come, Malcolm, sit down," Martin urged. "Have some tea. It's chamomile."</p><p>His gaze flitted down to the cup for only a second before he looked back up at his father, searching his gaze wordlessly. There was nothing but excitement reflected there; not even anything necessarily dark or malicious. Just warm. And yet, it still made his heart stop. With a heavy weight across his shoulders and a cold feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach, he managed a step forward - but not toward Martin. Instead, he stepped closer to Sunshine's cage.</p><p>Martin's eyes tracked him calmly, a predator watching his prey. Then his gaze flicked to the side, focusing on Sunshine, and something almost uncomfortable flashed across his father's face.</p><p>"I didn't know you had a bird," he commented, words stilted, tone guarded. Malcolm blinked.</p><p>He watched his father for a moment, studying his cautious expression carefully, and somewhat curiously, before looking back at Sunshine. Still as calm as ever, his baby bird had settled down on her perch and had taken to watching the two of them with an almost curious gleam in her black eyes, her head cocked toward Martin the slightest bit as she clicked her beak toward him. Malcolm gazed at her for a moment, resting his head on the side of the cage and threading his fingers through the bars, reaching out to brush his fingertips lightly against Sunshine's feathers, and she quickly turned her attention away from Martin to offer his pinkie an affectionate nip. "I've had her for a while now," he muttered. "Five years." He hesitated, not pulling his hand back, and turned his gaze back to his father, who now looked more or less intrigued. "You can't be here."</p><p>Martin didn't seem surprised. He also didn't respond immediately. His gaze went to Sunshine again, now with more interest than discomfort, and he leaned forward with his hands propped up on the counter, staring at the parakeet for a moment. "She's certainly a beauty, isn't she?"</p><p>Malcolm furrowed his eyebrows, eyes flicking back to Sunshine. As if in response to Martin's words, the bird lifted her head a little and trilled, flaring her wings out and fluttering them slightly.</p><p>"I know she is," Malcolm muttered, finally pulling back. "Dr. Whitly, you can't be here."</p><p>Martin laughed. There was no humor in his tone. "Where else am I supposed to go?" It was a good question. Malcolm didn't have an answer. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he recognized that sooner or later he was going to have to call someone to come get his father and take him back to Claremont. And then he'd have to tell them what he did - because it was either he told them, or Martin told them, and Malcolm would honestly rather they hear it from him first. And such a thing wasn't going to be easy to admit. He didn't know how he was going to look into Gil's eyes now and tell him he knew Martin had the golden key card, that he'd let him keep it, that he'd aided in the Surgeon's escape. "The tea's getting cold. Come on, it'll help you relax."</p><p>Malcolm took a breath, eyes darting back to the cup. Against his better judgement, he took a step forward, feeling as if the floor was going to give out under his feet at any second. His wary eyes didn't falter from the cup for a moment, watching the steam curling from the liquid inside - most certainly <em>not</em> getting cold - before he lifted his gaze back to Martin's proud face, studying the dimples under his beard, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "What's it laced with?"</p><p>"Love," his father replied with glittering eyes, a surprisingly gentle smile, and Malcolm wanted to throw up. The smile faltered after a moment, though, replaced with something a little more serene all of a sudden, and a flicker of horror entered Martin's gaze. "... you don't think I'd…?"</p><p>No, he didn't. And in a way, Malcolm wondered if that was worse.</p><p>Martin's expression darkened suddenly, but not with malice or anger. He picked the cup off of the counter himself, and Malcolm felt some of the tension in his shoulders dissolve as he watched his father lift it to his lips, taking a sip himself before setting it down on the counter and sliding it toward the edge. Malcolm stared for a moment, watching Martin make a show of swirling the liquid around in his mouth and swallowing, and finally took another step forward. Muscles stiff, each step painful, he made his way forward to the counter, but he didn't sit down.</p><p>Not yet. He peered up at the man through his lashes, taking in his expression wordlessly. He couldn't even believe how wrong this was, how wrong it felt. How much he longed for it to be-</p><p>"Right," Martin began, taking his seat on the other side of the counter. Calm. Docile. He couldn't help but think, as he rested his hands against the top of the counter, that this was almost domestic. Just father and son, talking over tea. The thought made him want to laugh, but his throat squeezed shut tight, not letting a sound escape. "I understand I'm probably unwanted."</p><p>Malcolm shook his head, directing his gaze downwards for a moment. Martin wasn't stupid. Martin was the smartest man he knew. And more than anything, Malcolm was well aware, he knew exactly how to manipulate him. He knew damn well he was <em>wanted</em>. He knew damn well that all Malcolm wanted was his father, all he longed for, <em>ached</em> for. He knew damn well that Malcolm <em>wanted</em> him. And they both knew just as well that he couldn't have him. He couldn't have his father, he couldn't have his family, he couldn't have his life. He couldn't <em>have</em>. He'd taken that night, yes, he'd taken what he'd gotten because, he'd allowed himself a moment of weakness, he'd allowed his defenses down, he'd allowed Martin to get into his head. The child in him had been aching, hurting to his very core, and all he wanted was his father. To feel safe and secure in his arms again the way he used to, the way he thought he never could again.</p><p>The child in him wasn't satisfied, he realized numbly. He still wanted that. He'd <em>always</em> want it.</p><p>His phone buzzed in his pocket, reality crashing down over him like a tidal wave. His knees almost buckled, legs feeling weak, and, despite every instinct screaming at him not to, he ended up stepping back and pulling the chair out to sit down, sinking back as he pulled his phone from his pocket and looked down to check. Gil was calling him, big surprise. The logical part of his brain noted he should answer, tell Gil that Martin was here and then deal with the aftermath.</p><p>Martin watched him silently, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Malcolm dared to look up at him, holding the vibrating phone silently and meeting his father's gaze, desperate and afraid.</p><p>Like a child, asking a question he couldn't voice, looking to his dad to give him an answer.</p><p>With something akin to defeat in his eyes, Martin smiled at him. Nothing but warmth.</p><p>Heart in his throat, Malcolm put the phone down on the counter and let it buzz until the call went to voicemail. His hands found the cup in front of him instead, curling carefully around the sides, feeling the warmth seeping through into his palms. Martin gazed at him for a moment, head tilted slightly to the side now, and offered a soft sigh. "If they find me… they'll kill me, Malcolm."</p><p>He knew that. The thought struck something painful in his chest, almost panicky, almost desperate. He dropped his gaze, staring down into the cup, and sucked in a shaky breath through his teeth, screwing his eyes shut for a moment and shaking his head at himself.</p><p>"You can't," he began, voice shaking, "<em>stay</em> here."</p><p>Martin hesitated. "... I <em>shouldn't</em>." He was silent for a moment. "But I want to."</p><p>Malcolm clenched his teeth and swallowed, shaking his head. "Why?"</p><p>"Isn't it obvious?" Martin questioned with a laugh that sounded more sad than anything, no humor in the sound, pinched with longing and pain. A sentiment he knew well, the same feelings bursting in his chest echoed clearly in Martin's tone. Malcolm couldn't resist lifting his head again, flicking his gaze back up to his father, taking in his uncertain expression. "My boy, I could have gone anywhere. I could be out of the city by now. I could have gone to Hawaii," he joked, and Malcolm wasn't sure why he laughed a little, a sharp huff of a chuckle, because it wasn't funny, not really. Maybe it was just a way to release the nervous energy bundling up inside of him. A way to keep himself from crying or breaking down in another way, because he certainly felt like he was about to. "But I came here. I came to <em>you.</em> I don't want to be anywhere else."</p><p>Malcolm stared at him for a moment. He couldn't see anything but sincerity reflected in his father's gaze, the same sense of longing that tugged at his own heartstrings day after day.</p><p>"I just," Martin started, and stopped. The vulnerability in his eyes, the pain flickering there, it shook Malcolm a little more than he expected. Coming from his father, usually always stoic, always manipulative, always masking everything with humor, this was just… he didn't know what to think. Almost every part of him was screaming that it was a trick, a joke, that Martin was just doing what he did best and manipulating him like usual, twisting his own emotions against him. And the child in him didn't want to believe it. The child in him wanted to believe that that longing was real. Because that meant that there was still something left, some kind of humanity. That his father wasn't completely the monster that he seemed to be, that Malcolm had thought him to be for twenty-one years. It meant there was something in him capable of feeling, <em>loving.</em></p><p>"I just want my family back," Martin murmured.</p><p>Malcolm stared at him for a moment, eyes flicking across his father's face, searching his gaze.</p><p>His phone buzzed again. With shaking fingers, Malcolm turned it off.</p><p>"My place," he began after a few moments, taking a deep breath. "My rules."</p><p>"I'm guessing the first one is 'no murder'?"</p><p>"That's a good one to start with, yeah."</p>
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